I’m not comfortable in my skin, at all. It’s something I should deal with, but I can’t. I can’t get passed the woman I see in the mirror. The aging woman. I just…can’t.
It depresses me. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about ending it so that I can go out with a gust of glory. Then I think about B, and the kids, and I move right along. And then I remember that my gust of glory, as I look in that mirror, passed me by some years ago. Depressed.
I can’t do much about my aging face, about my sagging skin. I do all I can. I exercise. I drink plenty of water. I pay copious amounts of money, quarterly, to reverse the signs of aging, but that only masks the signs. None of this gives me the results I long for. None of that…brings me back to a place and time when I was comfortable in my skin.
It probably doesn’t help that B is 10 (oh let’s get naked…11) years my junior. He never complains about my looks. Quite the contrary, he tells me I’m beautiful, constantly. But my strolls passed the mirror, speak louder than words. I’m not pretty anymore, not on the outside anyway.
Inside? I’m gorgeous. I’m fun. I’m humorous. I’m one of the most caring, giving souls on the planet. Inside is what counts, right? Not so much to me, anymore. I can’t stop looking in that mirror. I can’t stop seeing the wrinkles. I can’t stop seeing the droopy skin. I just, well…can’t stop.
I see the droop, I see the sag, I see the ugly. I forget about the inside. And I’m sad. I’m through. I’m ready to give up more times than not. I cry often about this. That’s pitiful in itself. Is that really important? I don’t notice others’ wrinkles. I don’t judge them based on their wrinkles, nor their looks. Why do I have to judge myself so harshly?
And, then there’s my friends. My young, beautiful friends. We joke, amongst ourselves, about my age. It’s funny, right? I guess, but not so much to me. It hurts me. The jokes. At my expense. All in fun. But it hurts. Depressed.
Ladies and gentleman, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about ending it all. Just to get rid of this vision that is now my face. Not a single day. But my husband? My kids? My babies? My grandbaby? They need me. I need them, and I want to be here for them. I want to see their successes and achievements in life. I want to be here. I really do.
How do I deal with this internal battle? How do I deal with…my face? How do I…just get passed this?
I’m not comfortable in my skin, but I love my family. I want to put that thought of laying down and going to sleep, for good, out of my brain. I want to STOP seeing that sagging face in the mirror and start seeing the HEART and SOUL that is still beautiful.
How do I just get comfortable in my skin again?
Y’all, I’m so sorry for this public pity party, but I thought you should know. I play a pretty mean public social media game. In public in my “real” life, both outside of the home and in, I appear to be vibrant and happy. I want to make those around me laugh and smile. I want everyone to be happy, always. But honestly, when I’m alone, just me and my skin, I struggle in silence. There’s the naked truth.
Now back to your regularly scheduled programs. I just need to figure out a way to be comfortable in this saggy skin again. I can do this!
My life is good. I have a beautiful family, I have great friends, and I have an amazing job. Yes, I CAN do this!